


Project Mountainforest comes to the Wildwoods, much to everyone's dissapointment

by Freddy_T_who_Never_Wont_not_be



Category: The Wizards of Once Series - Cressida Cowell
Genre: But if I continue this story You'll find out soon enough, Gen, I am not making this story to be good, I understand that those words are meaningless to all except one other person, If it starts getting good let me know so that I can remedy that, It feels weird making these characters talk so i will be using lots of internal monologues, Project Mountainforest AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freddy_T_who_Never_Wont_not_be/pseuds/Freddy_T_who_Never_Wont_not_be
Summary: A Certain Orginization that has plagued the vast majority of my other WIPs since its introduction in "A Story for Big Mom", my unfinished "Egg Nanny Tales" fanfic that I will not post to the internet, comes to invade another writer's intellectual property again for the first time in almost a decade.Nobody knows what will happen next, least of all me.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	1. In which the stage is set and my doom is sealed.

**Author's Note:**

> Whether I finish this series or not depends on if I have both time and insanity to spare.
> 
> Unlike the Celestial Throne, this story exists. Whether that's a good thing or not remains to be seen.

The thing that called itself Lonesome howled at an unseen moon, pleading for its freedom. Not quite forgetting who it used to be.

The sound got lost in the midst of sterile halls and soundproofed walls, and never reached the moon.

The woman who two people called Sychorax was the only one who heard the desperate, lonesome howls was three floors up, down the hall, on the last door to the left. In an office behind no less than seven iron doors. Writing down the results of Project Mountainforest's most recent experiment in a large green folder.

If all went well, they would be returned to the Wildwoods in less than a year.

The thing everyone seemed to call “Spoon” looked up at this new stranger clad all in iron, then at their Wish to see if they needed t protect her from it.

“Bodkin, look what I found following me from the mess hall!”

Apparently not.

“Wish... is that a spoon?” 

“I think so. Say Hi Spoon.”

The large figure was like their Wish, but was not their Wish. It was covered in the same thing Spoon was made of. Could the large figure want to melt them down and wear it? Spoon didn't want to say hi.

They hid in their Wish's coat pocket.

The person who nobody but himself called the “Boy of destiny” was alone.

He didn't like being alone, but sometimes it was a necessary evil. Fix the cracks in the mask, that sort of thing.

Not that it was much of a mask, really. More like a few well-placed illusions to cover up a small blemish here and there. Still very much you. Just... slightly better than reality. A little less fear here, a little more bravado there. And, of course, the confidence that every plan you make will work out. Maybe it won't work out as expected, but it'll still work out.

He tried, one last time, to do magic. To summon some sort of strange, tingly feeling from his gut. Or was it his heart? Fingertips? Head? Perhaps it was one of those things where you expect something to happen, and then it does? Nope, that didn't work either. Back to plan A then.

Several hours later, The person who nobody but himself called the “Boy of destiny” was out in the Wildwoods looking for a witch to steal, despite the loud and varied protests of all those around him who could conceivably be thought of as parental figures, including, but not limited to: a raven with questionable sanity, a sprite with unquestionable sanity, his older brother Looter, whose sanity was irrelevant, and the hypothetical reaction of his Father if he ever were to find out, whose sanity was also irrelevant, but for completely different reasons.

The thing their Wish called Spoon was not having a good time of it. They had Meant to hide from the one their Wish called Bodkin in the closet, but blinded by fear they went out the wrong door and fell down what they would eventually learn was an elevator shaft.

It was dark, disorienting, and lonely.

Rather long, too, considering the facility was supposedly only three stories high (Spoon didn't know this, but I'm telling you to build some sort of air of mystery, despite the fact that gases do not make for good construction material.)

Spoon reached the bottom with a very loud (although thankfully not painful) clang, and all the elevator doors opened simultaneously. Someone had programmed the elevators to open because of the ding it makes when it arrives rather than because the elevator had actually arrived.

However, that wasn't Spoon's problem, and it most certainly isn't mine.

I'm not a character in this story, by the way, I'm just a stray narrator who found this universe by accident and decided to have a bit of fun. I'll be out of their hair in a bit, no worries.

The thing that called itself Lonesome had forgotten its original name, but it didn't like being calling itself 381. That's what the brown-and-green-coated folks called him. So it settled on Lonesome. It forgot why. Maybe something to do with before it was Lonesome, and there was a time before it was Lonesome, he knew that. A time when he ran free in the Wildwoods and sang to the Moon. There was a moon out there, wasn't there? There had to be, otherwise how would he know what it was? He wished he could be free, he wished he didn't have to be Lonesome anymore. He wished, he wished, he Wished...

Something slid through the slot where Someones seemed to serve him sustenance.

A Spoon.

He'd supped from spoons before. Soup. So much simpler than sloppy slurping.

He'd never seen such a sudden Spoon.

He'd never seen such a sullen Spoon.

He shook himself. Sad spoons? Such a silly thing to think! Sights of sentient silverware are simply superstitions.

Still...

Why not?

He tried to ask the spoon what was wrong, but it came out all funny. He wasn't sure how it was supposed to come out, but he knew it wasn't like that.

The Spoon seemed scared, and tried to leave the same way it got in. Sadly, the sustenance slot seemed to only open one way, and so the Spoon was trapped.

Supposedly.


	2. The plot continues ambling forward inasmuch as a plot can amble.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot of TWoO continues as-is, with extreme changes the main characters haven't discovered yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting words into these characters' mouths feels... wrong, somehow. And I'm not very good at dialogue in the first place, so this tale, should I continue it, will be Rife with Internal Monologues.
> 
> And remember, don't take this story seriously, because I most certainly won't.

The man one person still calls Tor loves both his sons, despite the evidence pointing to the contrary. He supposes that that's one of the risks of having Very Grown-Up Problems You Hope Your Kids Won't Ever Have to Understand.

The big looming furry thing is not as scary as Spoon had originally thought.

The woman whose name is Sychorax did not expect a silver spoon in 381's chamber. Of course it has to be a silver spoon. If one of the Mountainforest Researchers had found a way to imbue magic into iron, especially animation magic, she would be the first to know. Perhaps the second, if the Multiversal Head of the Project happened to be more easily accessible than her at the moment.

A ridiculous thought. 

A living spoon here or there both wouldn't and couldn't interfere with her schedule, so she ignores it. Perhaps it could be tested on the Magic-Extractor machine if the facility runs low.

The junior Project Mountainforest researchers hadn't found the Spoon yet, but when they do, they're gonna be surprised.

Caliburn is having a rough time of it.

In that day alone, Xar had possibly cursed both himself and the hairy fairy Squeezjoos with Witchblood, fought with then took prisioner a Warrior Princess who claims to have a magic iron spoon and her bodyguard (Although admittedly her bodyguard's less impressive than the Warrior Princess herself. Quite a feat when the bar's so low. It's not that Caliburn doesn't like the children, they just... aren't your normal, everyday, run-of-the mill, gung-ho, Warrior-types.)

And now they're all riding the Snowcats to the Warrior Fortress in search for a giant “Magic-extracting machine.” And of course Caliburn has to go with them because he is a “Good Guardian” and “Necessary for Xar's Protection and education” and “Cursed to serve Encanzo until one of them figures out how to break it, and it would really help if either of them could remember who cursed him, because until then they can't even figure out where to begin.”

It would help immensely if Xar only Listened once in a while.

“You should know all about that, Caliburn.”

Xar had been talking. He talks a lot, which is a problem for Caliburn. Not because he's annoying, which was only a quarter of the time at the very most, but because the more people talk, the easier it becomes to tune them out, even if what they're saying is very interesting and/or important. (This is why teachers who lean towards long droning monologue lectures tend to have difficulty keeping students' attention.)

“I've lived a lot of lives, so of course I know a lot of things.” Which was true, when he remembers what he knows.

Human minds are barely capable of remembering all the events of a single life, much less umpteen. Caliburn isn't sure if he has a Human mind, exactly, but he's a right bit smarter than your average bird, that's almost certain.

“Yes, but you were there during this lifetime. As Caliburn.”

“Was I?” Judging by the context clues, Xar is talking about the Warrior Fort, so he's stalling for time on the off-chance he's wrong. He never is.

“Quit stalling, Caliburn. Do you know how to navigate the Warrior Fort or not?”

“Of course I do.” The real trick would be remembering it between now and when they'll get there.

The Stone-that-takes-away-magic looms in the darkness of a thick iron box in the lowermost cave beneath the Warrior Fort. Tantalizingly close to getting enough magic to leave its cramped prison. Agonizingly close. Tortured by the knowledge that it will never be. The humans in the brown and green coats had seen to that.

They had replaced it.

They had replaced it and put it in an iron box and left it in a dry cave to gather dust until the box rusts away five hundred years from now. When it was so close to being free that it could almost taste the humans' stinking flesh. When it could almost feel the slight draught from the entrance of the caves. When it could almost smell the strong scent of magic-that-works-on iron coming from somewhere up above.

It can't taste anything now. Nor feel. Nor smell.

The humans in the brown and green coats had seen to that.

It's almost like they knew.

But they couldn't.

They can't.

Can they?


End file.
